The Eagle of the Ninth
by Riverdancer17
Summary: The Eagle of the Ninth Legion was lost in Britannia more than fifteen years ago. As the heir of the Commander who lost it (not to mention his life), Erwin bears the second hand shame, but when his own military career comes to an abrupt end and he saves a young Briton from certain death in the arena, he hears tell that the Eagle is where no Roman can survive. Beyond the wall.


Erwin is tired of Britannia. He is tired of the perpetual cold and damp weather that makes his arm (or what is left of it) ache for days, he is tired of the savages that inhabit the hostile country, but mostly he is tired of being forced to live off his Uncle like some kind of beggar. The battle with the Picts that took his arm also destroyed his military career and left him with no place to go.

Not that he is destitute.

His Uncle Pixis' generosity is outmatched only by his wealth and power, which is one of the reasons he is sat in the freezing rain in this poor mockery of the great coliseum in Rome.

He had not been pleased when his Uncle proposed this trip this morning, protesting that he had lost his taste for blood sport since the war took his arm, but Pixis had merely smiled and told him that it was an obligation for a man of his social rank. He has managed to avert his eyes from the beast fights, but when a great roar goes up from the crowds around the walls of the small amphitheatre, Erwin finds he must look.

The small man blinks slightly as he is thrown through the gate, and Erwin cannot stop himself staring. The man is not like the tall, mostly fair-haired locals or even the wild, red-haired Picts. He is tiny, no more than shoulder height to Erwin, perhaps significantly less, and his hair is thick, dark and coarse. His body, while obviously malnourished, is muscular and compact. Erwin feels a slight kick of arousal, the man is exactly the kind he had pursued when he was in Rome, his actions much more likely to go unnoticed in the city's debauched masses.

The tiny man stands to his full height in the middle of the Arena, fearless even as his, fully armoured, opponent is let into the arena. Erwin settles back to watch what he hopes will be an interesting fight. Suddenly, the little man does the unthinkable. In the face of his fearsome, heavily armed opponent, he drops the small dagger and shield he carries. Erwin's eyes widen in horror, this little man is surrendering his life before the fight has even started, and as he stands there Erwin finds himself willing the little man to use the advantages his small frame has given him. Though his opponent is armed and infinitely more dangerous, but the Briton can move quicker and fit into spaces that that the secutor could not manage in his heavy armour. But he just stands there, takes every blow that his opponent flings at him, with fist, shield or sword. Soon enough, the prisoner is gasping, a deep gash over his eye bleeding heavily into the arena's already damp sand as he lies, pinned under the heavy gladiator, a sword held at his sternum. Even at his distance, Erwin can see the fire of hatred burning in his eyes. The gladiator raises his helmeted head to look at the crowd, to ask them for the verdict on the tiny Briton's life. The crowd seem to be against this man, who gave them so poor a show, and many of them are baying for his blood. Erwin suddenly finds himself standing, his clasped fist high in the air.

"Life!" He screams into the still, shocked air. "Come on you bastards! Give him his life!"

He gazes around imploringly, and sees a few people raise their hands, thumbs clasped in the centre of their palms, Pixis stands beside him, and raises his clasped fist high in the air. After that, the deed is done. Pixis is one of the most high ranking and influential men there, soon the whole crowd is pleading for the life of the man on the ground. Erwin holds his breath as he watches the gladiator turn his head, looking down at the tiny Briton, finally, he stands with a grunt and walks away. Erwin turns, smiling, to see the man on the ground gazing up at him, his face twisted with a savage hate. He spits in the arena sand, and stalks away out of the gate of life.

...

Erwin is still thinking of the tiny man when his Uncle enters the room later that night.

"Erwin." Pixis says softly, as he enters the room.

"I am sorry Uncle, if I shamed you today." Erwin says, keeping his eyes fixed on the wall.

"I will not pretend I was not displeased." Pixis replies, amusement in his voice "But it was a brave thing to do." There is silence for a few moments, Pixis seems to be considering his words. "I was thinking my boy, now that they have you to care for as well as me, the slaves' burdens have grown enormously. You really need your own help."

"Uncle-" Erwin protests, frustrated at his Uncle's intrusion.

"And as you were so eager to save the life of the young man at the arena this afternoon," Pixis raises his voice slightly. "I have taken the liberty of purchasing him to serve you."

The young man from this morning reluctantly steps out from behind his Uncle, scowling at Erwin. Pixis turns and claps his nephew on the shoulder.

"He is yours to do with as you will. If you don't want him then sell him. Kill him if you like, he is yours now."

After his Uncle leaves, Erwin stares at the young man across the room. Finally, he clears his throat.

"What is your name, boy?"

He scowls and lifts his chin. "I am Levi."

"What is your tribe?"

Levi snorts through his nose. "I am a son of the Brigante." There is a beat of silence. "You saved me when I was ready to die."

Erwin chuckles mirthlessly. "I was under the impression that people are generally grateful when their lives are saved."

Levi's eyes flash in anger. "I was prepared to die! I had made my peace with the gods and I was ready to enter the halls of my fathers! But you... you pleaded for my life. And now I am in your debt."

Erwin flinches back as the young man pulls a dagger from the belt of his tunic, but Levi merely lays it at his feet.

"And I will protect you until my debt is repaid."

...

Erwin cannot deny that Levi is a good servant. He wakes before dawn a few days after Levi was purchased to a rhythmic scraping sound and open his eyes to see Levi, an inch from his face, and scrubbing the wood of his bed. It takes all of his control to stop him leaping back across the bed and screaming like a pig.

Levi glances up, uninterestedly.

"You may call us savages, but I used to live in a tent and it was cleaner than this fucking sty."

Erwin blinks, the remnants of sleep making him slow and stupid.

"I mean to say," Levi starts, waving his hand at the room behind him in disgust, "You brought those slaves of yours from Italia. I thought everything from Rome was supposed to be wonderful, and yet they can't even scrub a floor properly."

Erwin decides that this conversation is too much work this early in the morning, rolls over and goes back to sleep.

...

This pattern carries on for several days, Levi cleans, insults Erwin and glares fiercely at everyone at any given opportunity, Erwin helps his Uncle, attends functions and, at least once a day, stops Levi breaking the heart of Petra, the cook, who seems to have taken a shine to him. However, their happy existence is altered somewhat on the night of his Uncle's birthday. Pixis gives a lavish dinner party, inviting almost everyone in Britannia that he knows, which unfortunately includes Nile.

Erwin had met Nile when they were both seventeen. Due to their high social status, Erwin's father being Primus Pilus of the ninth legion and Nile's father being very rich, both boys had been given the rank of Decanus in the twelfth legion. They had got on comparatively well, rising through the ranks with almost alarming speed, until Nile's twentieth year. His father had died, and at the first opportunity he had left the legions and taken up his family's seat in the senate. Since then, Nile had been rather too vocal about his distaste for Erwin's leadership of the Twelfth, as well as his doubts about Erwin's Roman citizenship, because of his German mother.

Close to the end of the night, Erwin is staring moodily into his wine. He finds it difficult to sit up alone once he is reclining and he does not wish to disgrace himself by asking Levi to help him, so he cannot join the other men as they get up and begin to walk about the room to socialize, leaving him isolated on his couch. He is just thinking about feigning a headache and slipping off to bed, when Nile arrives at the foot of his couch. He is swaying slightly, and the neck of his tunic is stained purple where he has spilled Pixis' fine wine, but he is smiling at Erwin.

"Thought I'd see you here tonight, old friend." He greets Erwin, giving him the customary salute of the twelfth. Erwin gives a lazy tip of his goblet back, Nile is a fool if he can't see that it's impossible for Erwin to salute with his missing left arm.

"Good evening, Nile." He says, lazily, trying to project that he doesn't want Nile there but he sits down at the edge of Erwin's couch anyway.

"I've been hearing some strange rumours, Erwin." He sys, staring earnestly into Erwin's face and Erwin steels himself for another conversation like the one he and Nile had had when Nile had walked into Erwin's tent to find Erwin's beneficiarus bent over the mapping tables with his tunic pushed up to his waist. But the man doesn't seem to remember engaging Erwin in conversation, drinking deeply from his goblet instead of elaborating on his point. Finally, Erwin sighs.

"What strange rumours, Nile?"

"Eh?" Nile says, dragging his dripping chin away from the emptied cup "Oh. Oh yes! There are rumours of a tribe, in the far north. A friend stationed on the Northern wall told me they've been seen with the eagle of the Ninth, flaunting it at some heathen ritual." Nile gives a vague smile "Thought you might want to know, what with the eagle having disappeared with your father and all."

Erwin does not react except for to raise his abundant eyebrows.

"Yes." Says Nile, scratching his sparse, wine stained beard. "The disappearance of the Eagle. Rome's greatest mystery. And, of course, your family's greatest disgrace."

Perhaps it is the wine he has imbibed tonight, but the comment makes his blood run hot and he gets to his feet, intending to make Nile answer for his disrespect, when he feels a hand at his elbow. He turns in surprise, to see Levi holding tight to his arm.

The smaller man bows to Nile, before turning to Erwin

"Your Uncle has sent for you, Master. He asks that you pour the wine for His Excellency." Levi's grey eyes are pointed at the floor, but Erwin recognises it as the escape option that it is. Levi discreetly helps him to his feet and Erwin sweeps from his Uncle's triclinium without saying a word to Nile.

...

In the quiet haven of his bedroom, Erwin sinks heavily into his chair, letting Levi undo the pin that kept his heavy wool toga in place.

"You may ask what you will." He says quietly into the silence.

Levi moved away quietly, folded the cloth in his arms and set it in the chest at the foot of Erwin's bed before turning around to face his master.

"What is the eagle of the ninth?"

It was one of the questions Erwin had least expected his young slave to ask, and he had to think for a second as Levi knelt to help him remove his sandals.

"Every legion in the Roman army carries a golden eagle. It is a symbol of the Emperor's divine protection, and if an eagle is lost then the legion is disgraced, and often disbanded. To lose the eagle is the ultimate shame. The Ninth is the ninth legion." Erwin shifts in his seat, and Levi moves away to put away his sandals. "The ninth legion was under my father's command when the eagle was lost."

Levi snorts indelicately.

"Tch, you Romans. What purpose is there to attach more worth to a lump of gold than your own skin?"

Erwin raises tired eyes to where he had expected Levi to be, and instead finds him kneeling at Erwin's feet, with a basin of the ointment he sometimes uses when the stump of Erwin's arm is painful.

"What happened to your Father?" Levi asks, more gently, as he spreads the paste across Erwin's heated skin.

"I don't know." Erwin says quietly. "So many of the died, it was hard to hear of the fates of individual soldiers. No one returned, you know. So I never... I never got to speak to anyone who may have seen."

Erwin feels the air move as Levi stands from the floor.

"It's late." Says Levi. "Let's get your crippled arse to bed."

A moment later, as Levi crosses in front of his bed to put out the lamp, Erwin wonders (as he has every day since Levi arrived) what he would do if Erwin reached out and pulled him down to lie next to him.

As he has every day since Levi arrived, he lets Levi put out the lamps and bids him goodnight as he leaves the room. Sometimes, he fancies Levi looks a little disappointed.

...


End file.
